


Uninvited

by mansikka



Series: Too Far [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There wasn't the slightest ounce of thought behind it.</p><p>One moment, they were laying on their sides facing each other, with Dean seeing Cas' eyes for the first time in days. Weeks, even.</p><p>The next, Dean had rolled forward, entire body against unmoving body, lips pressed against unresponsive lips in an unreciprocated kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uninvited

There wasn't the slightest ounce of thought behind it.

One moment, they were laying on their sides facing each other, with Dean seeing Cas' eyes for the first time in days. Weeks, even.

The next, Dean had rolled forward, entire body against unmoving body, lips pressed against unresponsive lips in an unreciprocated kiss.

Dean didn't know he had it in him. He didn't know he could do that. He did know, very definitely though, just how much it was something that he wanted.

Preferably, with Cas more enthusiastically kissing him back.

Cas was as stone.

Not stone, Dean amended. More like muted flesh, silenced synapse and trapped ticking time bomb. Especially if that glare was anything to go by.

Cas continued to stare back at him unblinking, and all Dean could do was watch.

***

That had been this morning. A few short hours ago, or several lifetimes, depending on how dramatic Dean was being. Which was very, frantically yelling Sam awake just as soon as he'd come to his senses, although it was Cas, not Sam, that wouldn't stir.

Sam had risen to his feet in an instant, ready for fight, or action, or saving something. Not for Dean to crumple to his knees on the bed, his hand reaching over towards Cas' as he slumped, and wail in both grief, and relief, all at the sight of a slither of blue.

Since then, Dean had reached for Cas' pulse repeatedly, checking he was still there with them, continually letting his hand linger on his shoulder, arm, or side in relief every time.

Now that he'd started touching Cas he didn't seem able to stop himself, even if a small voice pestered him with words like  _ consent _ , and  _ unwanted _ , and  _ reject _ .

Would Cas allow this softness of his if he were able to speak to him? Would he object to the way Dean leaned on him, the forced connection that served to reassure Dean himself probably more than he meant it as a comfort for Cas?

Not that he wouldn't comfort Cas if he wanted it, not if he forgave Dean and gave him the chance to do it. To give him the chance to be the better version of himself, the one that was open, and honest, and brave about these kinds of things.

Sam left the room with an excuse of picking up something to eat, because despite wanting to be able to do something for Cas, he couldn't take the wretched way Dean repeated his string of hopes, and fears, and his constant non-updates on Cas' condition that Sam could see quite clearly for himself.

With the jolt and click that signalled the closed door, Dean shuffled himself down the bed, propped himself up on one arm, and shakily slid his hand over Cas' side before pressing it into the small of his back.

“Listen, Cas. I know you can hear me, okay? I don't know what this thing is that's happening to you. But fight it. Fight it, and come back, you hear me? Come back. Even if it's just to tear me a new one. Not like I don't deserve it,”

Dean studied Cas' eyes, looking for the slightest movement to show he was listening, or even just hearing him, but again there was nothing.

“Cas,” he said, desperate and pleading. His eyes drifted down from Cas', taking in the thick stubble of his jaw, what he imagined was the hollowing of his cheeks, and the ever-chafed lips that taunted him by not moving at all; either to speak, or to kiss him back.

Dean fought with himself; this was a stupid impulse, a desperate, uninvited attempt for a connection he'd given away the right to with the way he'd treated Cas. To take what was not freely being offered, to even  _ want _ to do that. How far had he fallen to get to this point?

But the draw was there; whether it was from weeks of overthinking it, of wishing he could claw back his actions, or utter despair that Cas was now so close, but still so very much not there with him.

“Cas...” Dean tried again, a soft whisper as he ducked his head down, pulled as though he had no control over it, and pressed his lips firmly against Cas'.

When Sam returned later to find Dean curled up asleep against Cas' still unmoving form, he watched them in silence for a while, unsure of what to make of what he was seeing.

What could he say, taking in the way Dean's hand possessively splayed across Cas' back, or the way his forehead pressed against Cas' so that their lips were barely a breath apart?

In different circumstances, Sam would silently withdraw his phone from his pocket, take a series of pictures, and tease Dean so relentlessly for it that he risked getting at least a punch for his troubles.

But despite the slight urge to do just that, Sam thought better of it, instead grimly setting his jaw and watching, wondering what the outcome of all this would be when – if, Cas finally woke.

_ When _ , Sam told himself again harshly.  _ When _ . Cas  _ would _ wake. He  _ would _ be okay. Their inability to help him this time would  _ not _ be the time when he couldn't fight against whatever was doing this to him alone. Their treatment of him over the last few months, as nothing but as something of use to them, would  _ not _ be the last human thing Cas experienced; not if he could help it.

Sam found himself praying to Cas to get better, idly wondering what shape Dean's prayers took compared to his.

***

“...Cas?”

Sam's eyes flew open, staring straight up at the ceiling for a moment before registering the choked questioning tone over to his side.

He fumbled out for a light switch, wincing at the sudden brightness in the room before turning his head, taking in the tense set of Dean's shoulder, and slowly sitting himself up.

“Cas,” he heard Dean whisper urgently again, took the couple of steps needed to be stood over them, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Cas' hand had moved, forming a fist that wound tightly around the fabric of Dean's shirt against his chest, and the expression on his face was nothing but seething.

Dean stared on back at Cas unblinkingly, his expression half uncertain, half surprised. He glanced up at Sam only for a second before dropping his eyes back down and swallowing thickly. As though afraid taking his gaze away too long would reverse whatever 'progress' Cas was making.

“I... don't know what to do here, Sam,” Dean told him worriedly.

“Same here,” Sam agreed, clearing his throat. “He looks... he looks kind of angry,”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed drily. “Looks like he's gonna smite my ass. Can't say I blame him. Kinda wish he would. Anything to get him moving again,”

“He's not moved again? I mean... since that?” Sam's eyes lingered over the way Cas' fingers bunched up Dean's shirt, and wondered how Dean would wriggle free of his grip if Cas didn't move unaided.

“Nothing. I woke up feeling what I thought was him flexing his fingers, but it just got tighter, and tighter, and then stopped. And then you hit the light, and...” Dean's voice trailed away, glancing down at Cas' hand then back at his face again with an expression Sam didn't want to try and guess at.

“Can you, uh, move his hand or something?”

“Not exactly in a hurry to move, Sam,” Dean told him quietly, making Sam's eyebrows shoot up again.

“Okay... but. What if. What if next time he moves, that hand's gripped around your neck instead? He's... I mean he's not exactly looking friendly right now, is he? And since we don't know what this thing is that's happening to him... how'd we know it's not some sort of... I don't know. Attack spell, or something?”

Sam shifted awkwardly where he stood, fearing Dean's reaction to his own now-voiced concerns. But Dean just shrugged, almost as lifeless as Cas was beside him.

“We wait,”

Sam recognised the tone as one not to be argued with, and let his shoulders slump. “So what, we just-”

“Go back to sleep, Sam,” Dean told him softly. “Turn the light out, would you? Can't exactly do it myself right now,”

Sam watched for another moment then sighed, relenting. With one more glance he went back to his own bed, settled, and reached out for the light again, bathing them once more in darkness.

When Dean was sure that Sam was at least pretending to sleep, he let out the breath that he'd been holding and dropped his forehead back down against Cas'. The hand he'd had around Cas' back had shifted to rest on his hip, and he flexed his fingers there for a moment, feeling the firmness of Cas' skin against his palm where a slither of skin had been exposed beneath his shirt.

“C'mon, Cas,” he whispered, tilting his head for yet another uninvited kiss and letting his lips linger there a second. “Fight this thing,” he begged, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

***

Dean dreamt.

Shifting, uncomfortable dreams that he couldn't grasp hold of, sliding through the tendrils of his mind as though every fragment of thought was just out of his reach.

Cas was there, ever watching, ever the observer. Always the target Dean was aiming for, but always the thing he couldn't get to.

Sometimes the dreams had a sensual edge to them. Dean had the impression of body heat, moans of pleasure, lips on skin, and a feeling of giving himself over entirely.

Other times, the dreams turned violent. The sharpness of claws, the pounding of fists, the never-ending wall of sound that crashed down on him like unrelenting rage unleashed.

Always Cas.

When Dean woke, Cas was still haunting his day as well as his night, staring back at him in fury but still without any other signs of life. Dean glanced down at Cas' fist still bunched up against him, and let his shoulders sag in disappointment.

He listened to the quiet noise of Sam sleeping behind him, and found himself kissing Cas yet again.

What are you  _ doing _ , he demanded of himself, not understanding his own reactions even for a minute.

He knew he wanted Cas; that much was a given now. In the void since Cas had first disappeared on him, Dean had allowed himself to admit that – even parts of it at least, to Sam.

But this helpless urge he felt, to keep touching him, to keep kissing him as he was doing. All Dean felt about his actions was selfish, because they just left him wanting more. And lost, because he really didn't have a clue what was going on here.

With a lot of effort a little later, and some assistance from Sam, Dean managed to pry himself free of Cas' grasp. He stood under the stream of the shower, willing himself to full consciousness, hoping but yet not hoping that when he returned to the room he'd find Cas sat up, and wide awake.

With a soft groan that he hoped was washed away with the noise of the water, Dean wrapped a firm hand around himself, and let his head roll back to rest against the shower wall. Immediately, as always happened and had happened for a while now, his thoughts instantly turned to Cas.

Dean had meant it when he'd told Cas, at least by prayer, that he knew he wasn't always so subtle in his thoughts about him. This shower was case and point; it wasn't the first time he'd sought release by allowing himself to think of Cas, or of Cas doing this for him instead, or of Cas just watching him do it.

Cas' name was an unvoiced whisper on his lips as he came, and was followed immediately by a rush of guilt for doing this when Cas himself was laid there helpless just a few feet away from him on the other side of the wall.

Dean dressed, rough with himself, his own angry taunts berating him to the point where he had to brace himself against the door to get a hold on it all, before going back in the other room behind a mask of calm.

Nothing much had changed.

Sam was still sprawled on his bed, a deep frown between his eyebrows as he continued his fruitless search for answers to what might be wrong with Cas.

Cas still laid on his side, his fingers that had been clenched in a fist still crooked against the bed where Dean had left them, and Dean felt his stomach sink in disappointment yet again.

Sam went out for a run, and with nowhere else to sit, Dean laid himself back beside Cas, itching with stircrazy-ness. The motel room walls seemed to pulse with confinement; Dean couldn't remember the last time they'd stayed in a place for so long, not even the bunker. There had not been so many consecutive days of doing  _ nothing _ for such a long time, that Dean felt himself lost, as well as frustrated, at both the situation with Cas, and this general sense of restlessness.

He wouldn't take a case, not with Cas like this, not when he couldn't be on hand for him, in case something happened. And Dean was reluctant to move Cas to the bunker, because they still didn't know what this was, or if moving would help, or hinder his recovery.

In limbo, with no answers and nothing to do but argue with himself about all of his mistakes, Dean let his head fall back onto the pillow with a thud and closed his eyes, tired with it all.

***

Perhaps half asleep, and perhaps half-convinced he was dreaming again, it took Dean a while to notice the stirring beside him on the bed. The stirring was followed by a pressure down beside his right knee, and a dip to his pillow at the right side of his head.

When he finally cracked his eyes open, Dean sucked in an audible gasp, and felt his heart pounding frantically, at the way Cas towered down over him looking thoroughly incensed.

  
  
  



End file.
